


Our Gentle Sin

by VasaliaTheWise



Category: Jamestown (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adultery, And By Better, Angst, Cheating, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Samuel finally realizes his marriage is toxic, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Toxic Relationships, Vanilla, and he deserves better, cw: adultrey, i mean you, sweetie, toxic marriages, tw: adultrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VasaliaTheWise/pseuds/VasaliaTheWise
Summary: You realize that perhaps the marriage of the Castells is not as happy as you have suspected. Samuel decides to trust to confide in you the truth about his relationship. Before you know it, there are emotions that arise. Emotions that could put you both in danger.
Relationships: Samuel Castell/Reader, Samuel Castell/You
Kudos: 2





	Our Gentle Sin

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone cheating. Please. please. Please. Please. Pllleeeeease do NOT cheat on your significant others. Please do NOT try to be the other woman or man or person! I just thought the idea was interesting with these characters and this situation. I may write a part two or three. But, enjoy my friends.

You met him the day the whole colony laughed at you. Crowds walked in to see the meeting house and what would occur. Your skirt got caught on a bit of wood that stuck out from the side of the wall. Before you noticed it, you fell right down. There was a roar of laughter from some men and even a few twinkling bells of female laughter, as well as your hands, hit the dirt floor.  
“Stop that! Someone help the lady…”  
He walked forward and helped you up. His eyes were kind when they looked at you and his face wasn’t red with laughter.  
“Next time, do us a favor and fall so yer skirt flies up!” one man retorted.  
“Leave the lady alone!” the kindly man said, shooing him away. He grabbed your hand and walked you away.  
“Oh, thank you, uh…”  
“I’m Samuel, Samuel Castell…”  
You gave him your name as he led you to a far part of the wall.  
“So you’re the one who is promised to…to…”  
You nodded with a sigh, “yes, yes I am.”  
“I’m so sorry. He might make it through. He’s a good man, a true gentleman. He made it through countless winters here. And he was so excited to see you…”  
Looking up, you suddenly were aware of how dirty your skirt must have looked now and your hands went down to block it. Something about this man-made you feel self-conscious.  
“I…thank you, thank you very much Master Castell…” you replied.  
But as you hobbled over, there was a sound of heels and a blonde woman dressed in the colors of a peacock glared at you.  
“Samuel, what are you doing with her?”  
Ice hit your stomach. You forgot he was a taken man. You should have remembered from the first day.  
“Poor Miss Y/L/N fell, I was merely helping her up and giving her space, my dear, she has the right to watch as much as you…”  
She looked over you. If it wasn’t for her lack of eyebrows, you could have judged what her thoughts were. But she was still beautiful. And feeling her eyes, you wanted to squirm.  
“It’s true, I meant no disrespect, miss. I fell, and he helped me, that is all…” you explained.  
You shied away from in your corner as an offering and she gladly took your spot. You almost forgot about the topics discussed entirely. The sun shone on Samuel’s brown hair that made him look even more angelic.   
The bright summer day the Castells were married was the day you learned your intended succumbed to his illness. As you walked right out of your home to attend the wedding, you saw Christopher. His eyes were large.  
“Y/N…I’m so sorry…he’s gone. An hour ago…”  
You froze. Not sure what to think. What to feel. How to mourn a husband you crossed an ocean for and yet never laid eyes on.  
“Here, you can go inside…”  
“I don’t want to miss the wedding…”  
“There will be plenty others…and you can watch from that window…” he suggested, pointing to the window in your host's home. And he was right. It showed the doors of the church.  
“I’m…I’m in a New World. But...but I’m alone…” you mourned, folding your hands as you sat on your chair.  
He looked at you sadly. His lips opened to say something, but the playing of a fiddle stopped his mouth entirely. Pointing, you saw the radiant bride Jocelyn approach. She then vanished between the doors. For a long time, people stood, waiting anxiously. You found yourself holding your breath.  
That was supposed to be me and Joseph…it was going to be beautiful…but now he’s dead…he was going to be a wonderful man and now he’s dead! You thought sadly.

Flowers were tossed in their direction. They smiled and kissed. She looked radiant. Yet something was souring in your stomach. You didn’t know why. Something about the way his skin shone in the dark green of his clothes and how passionately he kissed her. How he would smile when they walked out and she said something quietly to him. It was impossible to notice. You went home after crying. But you didn’t know why. Rather, you knew perfectly well why. But you refused to say it. After all, there was a funeral to attend in a couple of days.  
On a day after it rained, where the ground was covered in mud, you overheard Farlow complaining about the new Castell couple.   
“Uf! How she speaks to him! Complaining and correcting him every minute!” he cursed, stabbing his walking cane into the muck.  
As you sat in church and observed, you saw he was right.   
You sometimes heard bickering whenever you passed by that house. Soft bickering. But bickering indeed. You found yourself walking slower every time you passed the place to get water from the well. You kept hearing her voice speaking to him, harshly, roughly. Whenever there was a meeting, your ear could not but overhear her instructions and instances. Then you heard his pleas not to do something, that it was dangerous. Often she would give denial and continue her case. There was guilt in her voice. You even stuck your ear next to the wall one evening.   
Perhaps it will stop, you thought.  
It did not. Not for a week. Or a month.   
As the meeting adjourned, Jocelyn walked over to her husband, the small maid trotting at her heels. You were about to leave, when you could have sworn you heard her hiss something into his ear. Then she turned around and left.  
But Samuel stayed behind. His face was white and his mouth a little open, as if wanting to cry out, but no sound escaped. People slowly left. So you went over to his corner as he sat blankly in front of his book. His quill was in his hand but writing nothing.  
“Master Castell…are you alright?” you asked gently.  
“I…I am just…troubled, Mistress Y/L/N. I’m…I’m so sorry what happened. He was a good man…and I’m glad you didn’t catch it…” he mused. You saw he wiped his mouth away, as if drying tears.”  
“Thank you. You’re a kind person Master Castell. You deserve some kindness as well. So is…is something wrong? You seem upset…what is it?”  
Looking around, he leaned down to your ear and said “let’s…let’s find someplace quiet. There are too many people around here.”  
You walked to the back of the tavern quickly. Verity’s laundry hung up on strings just over your head. A bit of mud got on the end of your skirt and on the end of his cape. You pulled behind a white shirt so you both could be somewhat hidden. Birds chirruped in the sky over you with blissful unawareness.  
“It’s…it’s my wife. I cannot make her happy…” he confessed.  
“You cannot? Is she always sad at home?” you questioned, folding your arms.  
He began to pace a little bit, shaking his head.   
“Always sour faced. Always angry. Angry at me. That or scheming. Going behind me and making plans without asking me. I asked her to stop. And then she kept doing it. She wants me to make enemies of dangerous men. And I’m afraid, if there is a wrong step…something dangerous will happen…”  
“Master Castell, you can…you can always say no…” you offered with a shrug.  
“I cannot. Sometimes I say no and she continues…”  
“You could repeat your no, make it stronger…”  
“She finds ways to persuade me otherwise. Misstress Y/L/N, we are in private…may I be honest?”  
Feeling ice run down your legs and your stomach drop, you affirmed “yes, you can.”  
“She takes me to our bed and makes love to me. Wildly. Does things to me that will make me say yes. It’s as if my body takes over before my mind can respond. Then Jocelyn says I break her heart if I don’t do as she asks…I was so happy to marry her. She said she loved me on our wedding day. And here…she’s unhappy. Bored, at least. I want her to be so happy. I want her to thank me. I want to know this suffering isn’t in vain. But all of her actions…those words seem so foreign. I feel like that wedding was years ago already…” he vented.  
There was a breeze that made the laundry drift into the sky. Checking the back door, no one was coming to by-neither Verity or Meredith to pick any laundry. Looking back, you puzzled at what to make of this. You looked up into his blue eyes directly.  
“You did the right thing by telling me…you may tell me more if you would like…” you offered.  
“Really?” he asked.  
“Just tell me before you take any action, and I can see if I can give any advice…”  
“Mistress Y/L/N, I don’t know if you’re a maiden or a sage…” he joked.  
Allowing yourself a grin, you said “one can be both…”  
Lifting the laundry, you gestured for him to hurry away and he did in a half-jog. You then shooed him off, hoping no one would suspect anything. Yet you watched him. His tall height. The softness of his footsteps. Staring at each detail. Not noticing the door opening and an Irish sounding gasp.  
“Why, what are you doing here around me shirts like a mouse? You could at least wash there!”  
The next time you walked into the church, he even gave you a bright smile. He seemed more relaxed and cheerful than ever. You smiled back. Though Jocelyn grabbed him, her arm wheedling around his and pulling him close.   
But as you sat to pray, part of you felt bubbly with a youthful excitement you had not felt for a long time. But then as the minister spoke, you froze. Remembering suddenly. To where you felt yourself wanting to weep. The Governors wife looked over at you approvingly as if saying “oh, what a pious young woman! How she weeps for her sins!” you could see her saying.  
But it was right.  
These confessions were innocent. Nothing wrong was done, you had to remind yourself. They were often in the daylight. Sometimes under trees or standing in the field near the graves to just talk. Sometimes he opened by discussing the poems he loved. Or about the families and especially the children back home and what mischief they would get into. It also gave you a chance to leave a few flowers for your late betrothed.   
Then he would open up. And you heard every detail. Of suspicions of transactions. What to do with Farlow’s stance. The instance about the Native who was caught in the town. Even about a treasure map that was rumored to be there.  
“I wanted so badly for her to forget the map. Then to just hold her, to feel her in my arms…” he recalled, gesturing to his chest as if trying to embrace the air.  
“Then…then she pulled me away. She denies me all this. And once I say yes, she throws herself on me…she threw out poor Mercy and if I didn’t convince her to let her in, the child would be sleeping on the street now…I don’t even know what to do…if she even tolerates me anymore…”   
There were tears welling up in his eyes. Leaning over, you pulled out your handkerchief and began wiping them away. He caught your hand right over your cheek. You both froze.  
He let go of your hand and you retreated it.  
“Thank you…that wasn’t very manly…”  
He began to wipe his eyes with your small, white cloth.  
“You don’t have to be a man, here, Master Castell…you can be a human being…and I feel sorry for you…I feel your pain…” you comforted.  
“I have heard of many wives who were treated thus but…husbands? Husbands? Do you think it not strange? I never thought it could be so between husbands and women…” he confided.  
You nodded with a small sigh.  
“It does happen. It’s never talked about. But it happens. I know of a few poor men like you back home in England…but…”  
You were still flushed from the feeling of his hand on yours. You looked down, pulling your fist into a ball.  
“I need my handkerchief back, please...” you asked.  
It was getting to be evening. The sky was a dark shade of pink and you heard crickets. He offered his hand, and you placed your hand over it, fingers grazing over your handkerchief. But you didn’t quite grasp it.  
“I…I need to leave…” you said, walking away with your skirts picked up as fast as you could.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Though one evening when he went up to you to give a report. It was at night and you wanted air. But you saw him leaving the tavern, Christopher heading the other direction.  
“Miss Y/L/N…I just wanted…I wanted to thank you for…for listening to me…”  
You walked over to the side where the moonlight couldn’t hit you both and no wander could see “you’re…you’re welcome. Is there anything else? Is she still talking about that silly map?”  
“There is something else. She is still insisting on the map. And…may…may I kiss you?”  
Your heart jumped into your chest. The more you tried to resist, the more addictive it became Despite everything. Despite every voice. Despite the warnings of every minister you heard and the whispered advice of every mother and wife, you nodded.  
His lips were soft. He kissed you with passion. You could taste the tobacco on it. Then there came another and another. His hands settled to your waist and you held him tight. His hair smelled of the smoke from a fireplace- musky and comforting.  
“Y/N…” it was the first time he said your first name.  
You felt warm, and he smelled pleasant. His hands were soft. He leaned down and kissed you again. This time he was closer, pressing you against the wall of the house, hard and you were pressing back. There was a heat growing inside you. Something between your legs was feeling different suddenly. But your eyes began to dot with tears.  
“Samuel, please stop…” you begged.  
He let go and you pulled away. You pulled up your arm as if to wipe away the kisses, and then it froze in mid-air .  
“This is wrong. This is all wrong. This doesn’t make any sense…Everything about this is wrong. If we get caught…if we get caught here. I started this to help you. I want to help you because…. because I love you, Samuel. But who knows what will happen to either of us. You’re suffering enough. I don’t want you to suffer more…because of me…”  
“Y/N, my darling…how is going back going to make me suffer less?”  
You still pull away. As much as the word “darling” felt like a knife to your chest.  
“I guess you’re right…you can’t suffer at all when you’re dead…” you mused worriedly.  
The moon made it’s way across you as it moved in the sky, it’s light shining gently. It added a soft hue on his hands as he pulled you against the wall. But not with strength this time.  
“You can kiss me again, Samuel…”  
He began to kiss you and you kissed him back. Your hand reached for his back, feeling right where you could feel his spine beneath his shirt. His large hands began to bunch up your skirt. First knotting it. This time you tasted a strong wine with the tobacco. Every stimulant and made him try to pull you away and yet made him want you even more.  
Feeling a slight gasp, you could feel the air against your stockings as he .  
“Wa…wait…please stop…” you breathed.  
He pulled away. Eyes wide.  
“Yes…I’ll…I’ll stop…” he affirmed, placing his hands away.   
You slid a little down the wall. Dusting your skirt and fixing your hair, you shook your head.  
“Let’s agree to only kissing. If we have to. Let’s not…let’s not take anything…anything far…nothing yet we…we might regret…”  
“Alright, if it scared you…I’ll stop…please…let me walk you home….” He offered, leaning and placing a hand on your shoulder.  
“No. I’ll…I’ll go by myself…once everything seems clear…”  
The next afternoon, you almost were in a tizzy from how everything seemed. It all went so fast. Everything happened. And yet technically nothing happened. You couldn’t be hanged for kissing, could you? But there was too much risk to it. You did your chores in a trance, it seemed.  
The next day, he even went up when it was an empty hour to a shadow of your home.  
“Someone will see!”  
“No one’s around. And you looked beautiful today in the meeting house. I can’t help myself.”  
“I…thank you…” you said, accepting the quick kiss before you could deny anything he said.  
“Also-have this! As a gift!” he added. He reached into his pockets and got a bright, shiny peach.  
Both of you were careful to walk the other direction. The fruit bouncing in your apron pocket.  
You walked back to the church for the next service and prayed in a stupor. Not looking left or right, up or down. Only at your lap and your hands. Waiting for it to be over. Perhaps once the Castells walked home, once you could no longer see him, or feel the ghost of his kisses, you could   
Jocelyn clung to him as close as a snake might squeeze a bird as the sermon droned on. It stayed there as they walked by. You didn’t dare look up to catch the eyes of any certain recorder.  
“Miss Y/L/N, how are you this afternoon?” Yeardley asked politely. His wife stood by his side, smiling demurely.  
Looking up in surprise, you curtsied in greeting.  
“Governor, I am most well, thank you for asking.” You answered demurely.  
“Have you cried your tears since Master William’s death?” he asked.  
“I…I have. I won’t ever forget him. But I cannot dwell on it too much. I’m only glad I was kept away and that saved my life. I didn’t want to die with him, I want to live. I wish to make a life here for myself. Somehow. We all must cry and move on…”  
He nodded, his wrinkled face softening at you. But something about his dark eyes made you stop in your place. No matter how gentlemanly he carried himself, something in his eyes you didn’t trust. Or there was something else up.  
“Wonderful! I have been thinking, it was high time you were married…” he announced  
“Who…what…really?” you blurted, still processing the surprise.  
It seemed the wind was knocked out of you. Your hands fiddled with the fingers as you held them, any ladylike grace taken away by the shock.  
“I have a couple of men in mind…some are still single and have the tobacco to pay for your hand…but so far, I believe the doctor, Christopher Priestly, will be most appropriate He’s not too old or young for you. He’s a comely, obedient and honorable man. A needed and well-paid man here, so you will never go hungry. You will live in dignity in this community as the doctor’s wife. But…that is, if he proposes. We’ve yet to speak with him, but he might. What do you think?” he monologued.  
Though you wondered if you really had a chance to say no. Especially to the governor.  
“I…I shall think of it. And look upon him with consideration…” you answer meekly.  
“We shall speak with him later. But visit him. Talk to him more. Flirt away to your hearts content. Wear your prettiest dress and speak sweetly. And see for yourself what a good man he is,” Governor Yeardley suggested. His arm waved in the direction of the Apothecary.  
When it didn’t look busy, you decided to come over to call. You managed to bring over some biscuits to him as a gift for his services and his kindness during your loss. As you handed him the basket, his eyebrows went up and he took it with a gallant bow.  
“Ah! Miss Y/L/N! Thank you!” he said.  
Looking over, you noticed a few books open with notes scribbled all over about blood types.  
“Have you…have you been reading today?” you asked, placing one hand over your arm. Your eyes scattered, trying to find anything that would start a conversation.  
“Yes! In my spare time, I research what I can so I may serve the people better…” he explained. His gave a sweet, dimpled smile.   
It seemed maybe Yeardley was right.  
Suddenly you smelled strong, flowery perfume, and the door opened without a knock.  
“Ah! Mistress Castell! I-uh, to what do I owe the honor of your presence!” he greeted. He abandoned your basket to see her.  
“Doctor Priestly…”  
“No, please! Call me Christopher!” he insisted, giving her a smile that could melt December into April.  
“I have the most horrid toothache-could you check it?” she questioned. Her blue eyes were glittering and there was something…wanton almost about the way she looked up at him. If not, then it was pure coyness.  
Standing there, invisible, you watched as he gave her a chair and let her sit down. She gave him a smile, but you saw his hands shake as he touched her chin. A bit of perspiration came to his forehead. When he declared nothing was wrong, they continued to converse. Flirting boldly. As if you were not there. Even as she left, he ogled her as she walked out the door.  
“Ah-uh- Miss….Miss Y/L/N…are you feeling alright?” he questioned, wiping his hands on his breeches.  
“No…there’s nothing you can fix…” you denied.  
Walking away, you fought to not slam the door in your anger.   
Storming away, you went back into your room. The sun drifted through the window as chickens and hogs squealed outside. You sat on the bed, clutching its edge, and thought everything in a fury.  
How dare he. Right when you were a visitor. How dare Governor Yeardley. And how dare Jocelyn for ripping everything apart for you. The one chance you had to make yourself a person in the colony. If he decided to propose.   
And perhaps he would since the governor was talking with him. Say, he swallowed his feelings for Jocelyn and proposed to you. And you accepted. What then?  
You would be entering a marriage to a man who didn’t love you. Ironically, the same woman torturing the man you loved.  
Remembering the peach, you pulled it out of your apron pocket. It seemed to glow like skin in the light of the sunset. You thought of it. Of him. Of everything.   
But there was only one advantage you had over Jocelyn. It was secret. It was wrong. But it was an advantage, and it was a smattering of joy throughout your misery.  
You turned your head up from the peach. Closed your eyes, took in a deep breath, and then opened them.  
Waiting until the owl was hooting away in the sky, you sat on a pile of crates in the dark right at the edge of the fortress. On one side were the backs of homes and on the other sides the tall wooden planks. There was a small cooking fire keeping you warm, but far enough to be safe.  
Samul finally ran up, dressed in his looser yellow doublet.  
“What…what is it, Y/N? You said there was something crucial…” he asked worriedly.  
Pulling your shawl over your shoulders, you looked down at the campfire. Then, reluctantly, up at him.   
“The governor spoke with me yesterday…and said that I should be married…” you explained, fighting the urge to become too emotional yet.  
“Married to…to who?” he asked.  
“I will be honest with you. He wants me to marry Priestly.”  
“Priestly! He…he…he’s good. He’ll take care of you. I’d trust the man with my life, much less you. I…” he answered. His eyes looked this way and that, trying to find what to say.  
“But…oh. Y/N, but…I can’t imagine…”  
He frowned, showing his true feelings.  
Sniffling a little, you started shaking your head, “Christopher is a good man, but he doesn’t love me. He can’t love me. There’s someone else…and if I marry him, I’m…I might be miserable but if I don’t, who knows what the governor will do…” you said sadly.  
“Oh, Y/N. I know how hard it is…I can’t imagine it…” Samuel said.   
He leaned closer against the fire and embraced you tight, sitting on the next crate. This time it was an equal exchange. Your pain was being comforted for his pain. and began to kiss you again. You found yourself grabbing him by his sleeves. Letting it be your turn to cry into his shirt.  
Before you both knew it, he was holding your sides and he was leaning you down. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you let him kiss you. And kiss you. And kiss you again. You felt his weight give way. You felt the ground beneath your back and him over you. Both of your breaths began to become quick. The kiss felt deep and yet he held you gently. Your hips began to curl up on instinct and that hotness flushed inside you again. This time, screaming inside you too much to push it away any more. You continued and encouraged him.  
Finally, he pulled away.  
“Not here…Let’s…let’s go…” he muttered.  
“Go…go…go where?” you asked.  
“I…I want you. I want you now more than anything else…” he said.  
“I do too…”  
Getting up, never minding the dirt, your eyes found the place as the drifted.  
“There’s a barn nearby. It will be soft. No one’s in there at this hour…” you suggested.  
He took your hand and led you here. Your mouth felt dry and your pulse beating hard to where even your hands could sense it.   
He found a lamp with a few matches and lit it.  
“We could leave it off…” you mused.  
He took you in his arms.  
“It’s low enough no one will notice. And I…I don’t want to leave it off…I want to see you. I want to feel you with me and know it’s you...”  
“Oh…my darling…” you breathed out. He leaned down, his beard grazing the tips of your ears.  
“Besides, I need to know what you look like under this…” he whispered with a devilish twinkle in his voice.  
Days ago, you would have pushed him outside. Now you pulled his hands to the back of your dress where it was held up…but not for long.  
He began to happily undo the buttons. You pulled him down, giggling as he cursed when one wouldn’t go out just right. A rush was entering you that made you burst into small fits of laughter. The same lustful giddiness of many a curious, foolish, and passionate adolescent pair tumbling their way into each other’s arms. Finally, freeing all of the buttons, he started pulling aside your dress with a rushed enthusiasm, moving on to work at your stays. But his eyes lingered to you as you were.   
“Can I touch you?” he asked.  
You kissed him again as an answer. He held one hand against your back and the other where your decolletage showed, covered only by the slip of your shift underneath.  
“I think you need to be undressed too…” you teased.  
“Patience, sweetheart…” he quipped back.  
He undid the back that held your stays in place, loosening the strings enough so that it could slip out of you as you stood in your shift. Though the outline of your body was perfectly clear.  
“Your turn,” you said.  
You quickly undid the buttons of his doublet. Then with his help you tossed off his shirt, your arms lifting up to get it over his head. You felt the wind knocked out of you at the sight of his torso.  
“You’re…you’re…”  
“I thought we were supposed to be quiet…” Samuel said.  
“I’m choosing words wisely…”  
He laid you down among the hay. It was earthy. Soft. Not too scratchy against your neck or legs. Once you both rolled off your stockings and shoes, you began to kiss each other and then he reached a part of your neck, biting down.  
“Ah…ah…” you fought the urge to moan too much.   
It lumped in your throat. He started sucking on it, your thighs clenching at the feeling. His breath felt hot.  
“Mmph, even your skin is…” he muttered.   
He paused, continuing as you both became bolder with kissing.  
“The taste?” you asked in reply.  
“I couldn’t think of any word than sweet…”  
Grinning, your hands went beneath his breeches. His eyes bulged. His words fumbled out as your fingers crawled down.  
“I think…tender, soft…what are…are other words…” he mused.  
You found his cock and gripped it gently.  
“Soft, ah…delicate? Deliciou-oh, oh God…”  
You ran your hand up and down, his breathing getting heavier as you did.   
Picking up your speed, you felt him crumple. His muscles tensed against you. The feeling of his pulse quickening matched yours. Though another part of his body was getting harder. He shook his head slightly  
“No…I…I can’t take it I need….I need to be inside you, Y/N…” he whispered.   
You let go, his hair getting wild and you felt your own folds slick and ready. Or even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t matter.  
Finally, nearly ripping the fabric, he pulled your shift down over your shoulders. It felt much colder. You laid back on the hay, letting the hair you had spill free, naked, and looking up at him. His eyes were so dark, it sent shivers up you of fear and desire. You could almost see the puffs of heavy breathing from you both.  
“B…beautiful,” he muttered out. “My beautiful nymph.”  
He began to take your breast in his hand, his large hands that looked like they could destroy life yet were soft even to your most sensitive skin. He pressed kisses on each one and you bit your tongue from calling out his name. Yet part of you was tense enough from all of this building up.  
“Go…go inside me…” you begged silently looking at him.  
He pulled off his breeches swiftly. His cock was large as any and your breath hitched.   
If Jocelyn, the governor, Christopher, or anyone walked in this moment, you both were dead. But you pushed the image away. You needed to enjoy the moment. This moment. Not be afraid of death. There was one death you wanted to face first, a smaller one.  
He entered you. There was a sting. And you released a small curse only to bite your tongue. He held still kissing you with more quiet tenderness. As you kissed back, he began to surge forward slowly. A small exhale left you.   
You felt him fill you up, your walls clenching perfectly around him. Not because he was too big. He now felt…right. He was getting used to the feeling of you too.   
You buckled your hips up and raised your legs to meet him. His hands pulled your thighs up to the right angle.  
He stayed slow. Savoring each thrust. You felt yourself forget about the cold tonight. Your hands wrung themselves over the top of his shoulders. The next time he kissed you, you let in some of your tongue. Finding his shoulder blades, you started to push them back and forth but in an increased tempo. He began to go faster.  
“Y/N…my angel, my life, Y/N…” he whispered.  
The pace picked up. Then more, and with strength. You felt everything go hot in your body. He was such a quiet, docile man, but the force was increasing. The tension, the frustration, the anger and anguish made free from the quiet prison of polite, sad silence. The hay shook. You were grateful you weren’t against a wall or it would have definitely made a crash down. If it was a bed, it would have made a sound or hit a wall rhythmically to wake someone up. It was getting forceful, and not too much pain. The kind that oddly felt good. You started to see stars.  
“Ha…ah…” you breathed out.   
Every obscene sound you wanted to make was swallowed in your throat again. Your nails clung deeper, digging into his skin. But enjoying every second. The sensation was filthy and heavenly.  
You felt him tense up. He was deep inside you already. But the hot passion was still going on, but perhaps reaching its peak. He kept one arm above you as the other hand moved to below your legs.  
“Sa…Samu…”   
Before you could ask that risky question, you felt him fiddling your clit until you felt yourself tense up as well. The tension hitting you. By instinct, you reached over and gripped some hay. It fell out of your fingers like water.  
Burying your face into his skin you fought the urge to cry out as your peak was nearing and he even gasped, swallowing it seemed the first part of your name.   
You both came in a shudder and a release of breath. Your clit was shivering as he removed his large hand.   
Stars still blacked part of your vision as you felt him milk you, letting the hotness continue and spill out as if finally releasing a heavy pail. Both of you panted heavily. A bit of sweat was over his own face. Both of you laid there. Staying inside, feeling each other. Catching your breath and watching as both of your chests seemed to rise and fall in unison. The dizziness, ecstasy, and bliss exploding through your eyes and then climbing down, down, down. All you could see was his face and all he could see was yours, though everything else in the barn spun.  
He cupped your face again, pressing his forehead to yours. His mouth opened slightly to say something, and then he closed it, swallowing.   
Finally pulling out, quietly, he wrapped his arms around you and held you to his chest. The barn stopped spinning. The dark wooden beams were visible. The distant hooting of an owl echoed from a few miles off. From that near corner was the lantern that illuminated it’s bronze light on his ivory skin. He even pulled the discarded shawl and shifts over your bodies like they were sheets. Not that you desperately needed them. He felt warm and soft. Like the blankets you wrapped yourself in on a long, winters night.  
Both of you were silent for a few more seconds. You could make out his heartbeat slowing down.  
“Let me speak, Y/N…is there…is there anything….” He began.  
“Any what?”  
“Anything…anything you would like…to show…as a thanks for this…” he said, taking his hand and grazing up and down your leg.  
You stopped, then looked up at him.  
“I…uh…no.”  
“No?”  
“I want nothing for this, Samuel…”  
He blinked.  
“Wh…wha…really…I…I’ll…I’ll give you anything you’d like…I have money, jewels…I could ask Yeardley for…”  
“No, I don’t want any money or jewels or anything I had…I have…I have here. And you. And that…that moment with you…and any moment to be with you after this…that was all I wanted…” you confessed.  
He grew a small smile.  
“Can I confess something?” he asked.  
“I’m used to your confessions. Yes…”  
“It involves…involves Jocelyn, if that’s alright. Can I lay against your chest when I say it…”  
“Yes…”  
He childishly nestles to the crook of your neck. Both of you looked ahead to the small lamp providing your only light.  
“Every time she lies with me. She kisses me, takes my cock, does everything you can imagine with it and places it anywhere on her- she brings me to bliss or teases me with it…it’s not for me. The third time she bedded me, I realized it wasn’t for me. Not for love. Not for the sake of my body, hers, or any lust on her part. She never lusted after my body, even. She always wants something. She wanted to take something. And in return, she would give me a moment of indescribable pleasure. I used to think she was a good wife, but now…”  
There was a bit of silence. A gust whirled past the outside walls.  
“Then once it was over, once we settled down…I would agree to do whatever she wanted. And I wanted her to be happy. So I kept giving. And giving. And she kept taking. Until I was like a puppet. It wasn’t…I just wanted a brief happy moment in our bedchamber, then I would be back. I’d feel…I feel…I feel used, like I do not matter. MY voice doesn’t matter. My thoughts don’t matter. And eventually, as much as I denied it, my body didn’t matter anymore to her. All those times we were at our most vulnerable, most private…and it was for me to be used.”  
A bird sang its song through the night. It landed over the roof, its wings fluttering like rain. Deep in your nose was the smell of bodies, of sex. You began to comb your fingers through his brown hair softly.  
“That hour I lied with you. I felt…I could have…I could truly make love again. I could enjoy myself again. Enjoy another person. I could be…be loved, I guess. And in return, for nothing. For nothing. Nothing but myself. Nothing to risk. Nothing to buy or bend or break to keep someone happy…but just for…just for itself…”  
He looked up at you. You wiped away his tears, though you felt some forming in your eyes yourself.  
“Y/N…thank you…” he said.  
You touched his cheek and grinned. Heaviness wanted to keep you down into the blissful slumber only lovemaking bought. But then you glanced to the door.  
“Let’s not fall asleep here…”  
Nodding, he pulled on his breeches and shirt. He helped you up. Pulling your shift over your head and even tying loose knots around your stays and brushing hay off of your dress. Hesitating, he then looked on you, kissing you again and then whispering into your ear.  
“May I see you here, a week from now, at midnight, darling?”


End file.
